


Peril of the Protectorate

by Persnickety



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunk Hermione Granger, F/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, Mutual Pining, Potions Conference, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9155635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persnickety/pseuds/Persnickety
Summary: Hermione and Severus attend a potions conference with other international experts in their field. Hermione joins a not-so-secret society, someone dies, and two hearts finally connect.I own nothing! I scribble for no nibbles, but rather for the fun of it!Originally written for the 2016 LJ SSHG Giftfest!





	1. A Dark and Stormy Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alienor77310](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienor77310/gifts).



> Thank you B.b. and C for you help with beta work. Thank you as well to the mods of the fest for their assistance and patience!

It was a dark and stormy night.  
  
  
Well, of course it was. It was night, and Western Europe was on the receiving end of the leftovers from the latest hurricane to grace the Atlantic. So asinine statements aside, it was in fact dark. And stormy.  
  
  
Just the kind of night that Hogwarts Headmaster Severus Snape enjoyed so well, if only because it provided him with the sight of his Potions Professor looking like a drenched poodle.  
  
  
“Stupid rain,” Hermione Granger grumbled under her breath. “Why they couldn’t have held this year’s conference in the bloody Bahamas I do not know.”  
  
  
“Be grateful you didn’t attend five years ago,” Severus replied as he cast a warming and drying charm on his former apprentice. He smirked to himself as her hair floofed out in an impressive display of angry, crackling curlicues. “I don’t know who headed the converner’s committee that year or what convinced them that the Outer Hebrides were an ideal location for a Potions conference, but it was a week of utter misery.”  
  
  
Hermione huffed and dropped her bags inside the hotel door as she attempted to wrestle her hair out of her face. “Alright, you have a point there. France is infinitely better than that. But Reims? Rather than Paris? What on earth brings anyone to Reims?”  
  
  
“Other than the Pommery, Veuve Cliquot, Tattinger...?” he responded dryly.  
  
  
“Well, yes. Other than that.”  
  
  
Severus rolled his eyes. “Honestly Granger. And you call yourself a scholar? Nearly every French monarch was crowned in Reims’ Notre-Dame Cathedral. It was Potions central for over a millennium.”  
  
  
She blinked blankly. “It was?”  
  
  
Severus sighed. “What is the first step in anointing a seated Monarch?”  
  
  
Hermione stared at her former Master’s raised eyebrow and wracked her brains for what he was asking her. “Oh. Right. _Ignis Dei_.” Hermione grimaced, somewhat chagrined that she’d forgotten the rarely-brewed potion for any monarch who ruled by divine right. _Ignis Dei_ , long thought to be the creation of the great Dahut herself, had long been the potion that anointed a monarch as the head of a country’s Muggle and Wizarding realms in tandem. No one was entirely sure how it worked except that a true monarch would develop a near metaphysical connection with the magical peoples of their country. An untrue monarch would die an ignoble death within a year of being crowned. Not that anyone really knew what “true” or “untrue” meant, but that was beside the point. The _Ignis Dei_ ’s brewing methods were guarded by a cabal of potions masters comprised of selected representatives from countries that had or formerly had a ruling monarch. It was ridiculous, really, that she’d entirely forgotten its existence considering she’d completed her Mastery under the only living British member of the _Ignis_ Protectorate.  
  
  
Snape scoffed under his breath before lifting her bag alongside his own. “Forgetful of you. Now come along and let’s check in before all the good rooms are taken, hmm?”  
  
  
Hermione watched Severus as he moved toward the reception desk, tilting her head to the side so that she might better admire his retreating form in Muggle denims.  
  
  
Not that he ever needed to know just how much that particular sight replayed in her nightly fantasies.  
  
  
A pretty grey-haired witch manned the front desk. “ _Bonjour monsieur! Je m’appelle Margaret. Bienvenue a L’Hotel du Sorcier Digne. Puis-je avoir votre nom de réservation, s’il vous plaît?_ ”  
  
  
Hermione shivered a little as she listened to her employer reply to the reception-witch. “ _Bonjour, madame. J’ai une réservation sous le nom de Hogwarts. Deux chambres, la première pour Severus Snape et l’autre pour Hermione Granger. Nous sommes ici pour une semaine._ ”  
  
  
The woman -- Margaret, apparently -- waved her wand over an enormous reservations book. “ _Oui monsieur Snape. Je vois une réservation pour Maître Snape, Directur de l’Ecole Sorcellerie du Hogwarts et Mademoiselle Granger, Maîtresse du Potions. Mais, j’ai une chambre seulement. Deux lits, mai une chambre._ ”  
  
  
Severus’ eyes narrowed. “ _Il ya une erreur. J’ai demandé deux chambres._ ”  
  
  
“ _Je suis désolé, Maître Snape. Nous sommes déjà surbooké. Je n’ai pas plus de chambres à offrir. Puis-je suggère que vous signez le registre. Le chambre est charmante, et il a une salle de bain privée et une vue sur le jardin._ ”  
  
  
“ _Mais il et une chambre, Madame,_ ” he snarled. “ _Vous pensez qu'il est sage de partager quarts avec mon associé?_ ”  
  
  
Margaret shrugged, nonplussed. “ _Vous êtes en France; ça, ce n’est rien. En plus, c’est une grande chambre une grande chambre. Deux clés?_ ”  
  
  
“ _Oui_.” It was bitten off as though Severus had something foul in his mouth.  
  
  
“ _Pardon,_ ” Hermione interrupted, ignoring Severus’ alarmed look. “ _Mais je crois que vou pouvez faire mieux. Vous pouvez amèliorer la situation. Nous avons besoin d'un repas et une bouteille de vin -- un bon Bordeaux, des oreillers supplémentaires, des robes des chambres, et des articles de spa. En récompense, vous comprends._ ”  
  
  
The receptionist blushed slightly, but made a notation in her book. “ _Oui, Mademoiselle Granger. Ça sera fait gratuitment._ ”  
  
  
“ _Merci beaucoup!_ ” the cheeky witch had the temerity to reply as Margaret bustled off behind the counter to find their keys.  
  
  
Severus turned to Hermione with eyes wide. “What was that?”  
  
  
“She messed up our reservation. The least she can do is provide a meal and some free amenities.”  
  
  
“Granger, you asked for a meal, wine, pillows, bathrobes, and spa items. You make it sound like we’re here for a tryst!”  
  
  
“Pfffff.” Hermione said, waving her hand in dismissal. “We’re in France. I seriously doubt anyone will think twice about it.”  
  
  
He gave her a doubting look, but remained silent for a moment. “Since when do you speak French?”  
  
  
Hermione laughed. “Since I was about five. My mother’s family is from Sainte-Hélène. Hence the Bordeaux.”  
  
  
“Hmph. You’re useful to have around, you know. I had no idea you could wheedle so effectively.”  
  
  
“Wheedle!” she said with mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’m quite the bossy boots, Maître Snape. I don’t wheedle; I conquer.”  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
Severus dumped her bag on the bed closest to the window before flinging his own on the double bed opposite. The room was adequate, to be sure, but it was sure as hell going to be awkward to share quarters with Hermione for the next week. Bad enough he had to deal with her mad hair and sweet smiles in staff meetings and brewing sessions, but now he was going to have to live with her knowing that she was in the shower. No more imagining what she wore to sleep each night because he’d have proof in mere hours.  
  
  
He didn’t know whether to crow with delight or cower in fear.  
  
  
They were going to share a room. What if he got wind in his sleep? What if he forgot himself and sang in the bath? And he was almost positive he snored -- really, with his nose he wouldn’t be surprised to find that the London Philharmonic brass section had standing room only in each nostril.  
  
  
Life, it would seem, was exceedingly unfair. He’d been planning to use the week to gradually make his interest known to his former apprentice. She was his employee, a head of house, and next in line for Deputy Headmistress after Minerva’s retirement. These things had to be broached carefully.  
  
  
Now he was going to blow it out of the water before he’d even gotten started.  
  
  
He squelched the rising panic as Hermione turned toward him with a questioning look on her face. “Did you even hear a word I said, Severus?”  
  
  
He swore he would have blushed if he hadn’t learned to repress that impulse years ago. “I long ago learned to tune out your babbling Granger. Was it important?”  
  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, well used to Severus’ snide comments. “I said I’m sorry we have to share a room, but I’ll try to make it as easy on you as I can. Now, are you going to tell me why we absolutely had to come to a week-long Potions conference at the beginning of the Fall term? Because the timing is just awful. It’ll take me weeks to get my first years in line after we return.”  
  
  
“Hm. I’m not sure I can tell you just yet. You’ll have to see it for yourself. Dinner tomorrow should be rather revealing.”  
  
  
“Argh. I hate it when you’re cryptic!” she said, giving him an exaggerated frown.  
  
  
“And I hate it when you regress to your thirteen year old self, but there we are,” he shrugged.  
  
  
“Severus, my thirteen year old self spent several months petrified.”  
  
  
“Yes. I still regret brewing the mandrake draught as quickly as I did. The classroom was so _quiet_ with you in Poppy’s care,” he said wistfully.  
  
  
“Git,” she sniped.  
  
  
“Harpy.”  
  
  
The grinned at each other in mutual accord as Snape pulled out the room service menu. “What do you want for dinner, Granger? Surely they’ll have something that will go with that bon Bordeaux you finagled.”  
  
  
“Mmm boeuf bourguignon. With a warm baguette. Or cassoulet de canard if they have it. And tarte tatin for afters.”  
  
  
“How is it you don’t look like Pomona by now?”  
  
  
She shrugged. “Lucky genes, I guess. And the fact that someone dragged me out running with him every morning through my apprenticeship and it became a habit.”  
  
  
“You’ll thank me for it when you don’t look like a Christmas pudding in five years.” He chuckled, looking down at the menu again. “No cassoulet, but you’ll get your stew and bread. With salad. And you’ll get your pudding.” He moved over to the floo to place the order with the kitchens.  
  
  
“Lovely,” Hermione said with a little yawn. “Then I’m for bed. The first session is at nine and cross-channel apparation always takes it out of me. I’ll feel better for a good night’s sleep.”  
  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
  
As it turned out, Severus didn’t get much sleep. He needn’t have worried about his own snoring; Hermione spent the night percolating on her side of the room. It wasn’t a snore, exactly. More of a slow breath in, then little puffs of noise on each exhale. It would have been cute if he hadn’t felt so agitated.  
  
  
It’s wasn’t like he’d sought to spend the evening alone in her company, but the free meal and wine had served as adequate inducement to remain in the room for the evening. They’d talked through the meal -- with Hermione only pressing for details on their purpose at the conference twice more -- before retiring to their respective beds with their books and turning in for the night. He still wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved that Hermione’s pyjamas consisted of a modest vest top and soft looking pants in coordinating shades of teal.  
  
  
Severus sighed and turned over, plumping his pillow in the process. The next few days were going to be absolute torture.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“Severus? Severus. Wake up!”  
  
  
“Mmph?”  
  
  
“Severus, it’s half seven. If you want breakfast and tea downstairs, you’d best get your lazy bones out of bed and get dressed. The first session is in ninety minutes,” Hermione hissed.  
  
  
“Mmmph.” Severus rolled over, curling himself further into the warmth of his bed.  
  
  
She prodded at his shoulder through the duvet. “Severus, if you don’t get out of bed I’ll tell Minerva that you sleep in black silk boxers and keep a teddy bear on your pillow.”  
  
  
“Dammit Granger. I put up with your cheery morning voice every day for six years. Can’t you leave a man to sleep?” he groaned as he rolled toward the edge of the bed and gingerly set his feet on the floor.  
  
  
“Not when said man is my introduction to every Potions master in Europe, I can’t. Now into the shower with you. Your hair looks like a goth-teen cockatiel.”  
  
  
“You’re just a riot in the morning,” he griped as he slammed the bathroom door.  
  
  
He emerged thirty minutes later in a puff of steam, hair tied back in a queue, frock coat buttoned to his throat, and austere black robes (now with a hint of silver embroidery to denote his status as Headmaster) firmly affixed to his shoulders. Hermione, he noted, was wearing a plum dress under her own black robes, a gold and amethyst brooch affixed to one breast of the dark velvet.  
  
  
“At last! I’m in desperate need of tea.” She palmed her room key and slipped it into the deep pocket of her robe, grabbed a journal and biro and opened the door. “Shall we, Headmaster?”  
  
  
“Lay on McGuffin.”  
  
  
She snickered as they made their way downstairs to the exhibition hall and breakfast buffet. After grabbing a croissant, some fruit, and a cup of tea (unfortunately not properly brewed), they snagged a place at one of the cocktail tables placed around the edge of the room to observe the flow of traffic. Severus was halfway through his dishwater tea and croissant when he heard a thrilling voice call out behind him.  
  
  
“Severus Snape! _Wie geht es Ihnen, mein Freund? Ich habe dich so lange nicht mehr gesehen!_ ” A petite blonde walked toward Severus and wrapped him in a back-breaking embrace.  
  
  
“Gretch,” he said with a gasp. “I’m pleased to see you, even if my ribs aren’t. How long has it been?”  
  
  
“Och, at least four or five years. Helsinki, ja? Unt zis lady? Your apprentice?” she asked, turning her eyes toward Hermione.  
  
  
“Ah. Gretchen Weisbrot, meet the Mistress of Potions at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger. Hermione was my apprentice until two years ago, when she took over for Horace.”  
  
  
“Hmm, Horace. A sveet man, but not a Master crafter. But you I am sure are perfection, my dear! Trained by die Snape! You haf not taken an apprentice before zis?”  
  
  
“No. Hermione, Gretchen is the editor of _Tränke Monatlich_ in Berlin. She’s also done considerable research of her own into everlasting elixirs and preservation techniques for some of the more rare sedatives.”  
  
  
Hermione held her hand out to the woman in front of her. “I’m pleased to meet you then, Mistress Weisbrot. I have read some of your work, though I’m afraid it was in translation. Perhaps we might find time for me to clarify a couple of points that I didn’t quite understand later in the conference?”  
  
  
“Euf, I like zis one, Severus. You chose vell, I zink. I very much look to know you better, Mistress Granger. Severus, vee meet tonight, ja? Dinner vith ze old boys. You will come?” She looked to Hermione at that last.  
  
  
“We’ll be there Gretch. Lovely seeing you.” He bussed the air by her cheek before she could grab him in another sleeper hold of a hug.  
  
  
“Charmer. Vatch zis one, Mistress Granger. He is as slippery as unt eel. _Hallo! Mikail! Wohin gehst du so eilig? Komm, umarme mich Moppelchen!_ ” Hermione watched bemusedly as woman dashed off to greet a stout little man on the far end of the room -- one who was clearly trying to evade the enthusiastic greeting.  
  
  
”Gretchen is…” Severus made a feeble gesture, clearly at a loss as to what Gretchen was.  
  
  
“Gregarious?”  
  
  
“Yes. That’s a word for it. You’ll get a chance to speak to her later tonight. She’s brilliant, but whatever you do, don’t let her take you out drinking,” he said vehemently.  
  
  
“Speaking from experience, Severus?”  
  
  
“Absolutely. Even the smell of Schnapps makes me want to vomit now. Come, we’ll be late for the first session.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
By day’s end, Hermione’s head was a whirlwind of faces and names. Severus had taken particular care to introduce her to a select crowd of brewers and Masters. They’d lunched with Michiko Furukawa, whose family had served as personal brewers to the Emperors of Japan for nearly two centuries, her son and former apprentice, Hotaka, and another Master, Sachin Malhotra. Conversation had ranged from the newest improvements in the Wolfsbane Potion to out-of-line commentator who interrupted one of the (admittedly more boring) presentations to blather on about his own research. When they’d finally returned to their room after a full day of networking, curated panels, and often tedious plenaries, Hermione had promptly collapsed on her bed in a heap.  
  
  
“Severus, I’m not sure how I’m going to survive six more days of this. My brain is simultaneously full and numb! This worse than when Jigger Jr. delivered fresh Cornish pixies instead of pickled ones by mistake last month. Everyone droning and flitting about without saying a damned thing.”  
  
  
“You get used to it. We won't attend every session as the conference continues. The side conversations are where the real progress is made anyway. Well, that and the semi-drunken conversations in the bar after dinner each evening. The Germans in particular get pretty interesting after a few shots.”  
  
  
“Shots? You didn’t tell me I’d be revisiting my apprentice days here.”  
  
  
“What you did in your apprentice days is none of my business. Now it’s nearly six; you should dress for dinner.”  
  
  
“Right. Dinner. And what, exactly, does one wear for dinner with the ‘Old Boys of Potions’ club?”  
  
  
Severus smirked at her over his shoulder. “For this evening I would suggest something formal and black.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> "Bonjour monsieur! Je m’appelle Margaret. Bienvenue a L’Hotel du Sorcier Digne. Puis-je avoir votre nom de réservation, s’il vous plaît?" = Hello, sir. My name is Margaret. Welcome to the Dignified Sorcerer Hotel. May I have the name of your reservation, please?d
> 
> "Bonjour, madame. J’ai une réservation sous le nom de Hogwarts. Deux chambres, la première pour Severus Snape et l’autre pour Hermione Granger. Nous sommes ici pour une semaine.” = Hello, Madam. I have a reservation in the name of Hogwarts. Two rooms, the first for Severus Snape and the other for Hermione Granger. We are here for one week.
> 
> "Oui monsieur Snape. Je vois une réservation pour Maître Snape, Directur de l’Ecole Sorcellerie du Hogwarts et Mademoiselle Granger, Maîtresse du Potions. Mais, j’ai une chambre seulement. Deux lits, mai une chambre." = Yes, Mr. Snape. I have a reservation for Master Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Sorcery and a Miss Granger, Mistress of Potions. But I only have one room. Two beds, but one room.
> 
> "Il ya une erreur. J’ai demandé deux chambres." = That is in error. I asked for two rooms.
> 
> "Je suis désolé, Maître Snape. Nous sommes déjà surbooké. Je n’ai pas plus de chambres à offrir. Puis-je suggère que vous signez le registre. Le chambre est charmante, et il a une salle de bain privée et une vue sur le jardin." = I'm sorry, Master SNape. We are overbooked. I don't have other rooms available. Might I suggest you sign the registry? The room is charming and has a private bath and a view of the garden.
> 
> "Mais il et une chambre, Madame,” he snarled. “Vous pensez qu'il est sage de partager quarts avec mon associé?" = But it is one chamber, Madam. You think I should share quarters with my associate?
> 
> “Vous êtes en France; ça, ce n’est rien. En plus, c’est une grande chambre. Deux clés?” = You're in France; it's nothing. Plus it's a big room. Two keys?
> 
> “Oui.” = Yes
> 
> “Pardon,” Hermione interrupted, ignoring Severus’ alarmed look. “Mais je crois que vou pouvez faire mieux. Vous pouvez amèliorer la situation. Nous avons besoin d'un repas et une bouteille de vin -- un bon Bordeaux, des oreillers supplémentaires, des robes des chambres, et des articles de spa. En récompense, vous comprends.” = Excuse me, but I think you can do better. You can fix this situation. We require a dinner and bottle of wine -- a good Bordeaux, two extra towels, two bathrobes, and some spa items. In recompense, you understand.
> 
> “Oui, Mademoiselle Granger. Ça sera fait gratuitment.” = Of course, Miss Granger. These will be free of charge.
> 
> “Merci beaucoup!” = Thank you very much!  
> ____________________________________________________  
> "Wie geht es Ihnen, mein Freund? Ich habe dich so lange nicht mehr gesehen!” = How are you, my friend? I haven't seen you in ages!
> 
> Tränke Monatlich = Potions Monthly
> 
> "Hallo! Mikail! Wohin gehst du so eilig? Komm, umarme mich Moppelchen!" = Hello! Mikail! Where are you going so fast? Come and hug me, my little chubby one!


	2. The Protectorate

Hermione was gratified to see her former Master’s eyes widen fractionally when she emerged from the bath, dressed for dinner. The dress was formal. And if it had started as break-your-heart red, at least now it was black. And tight enough to be painted on as she’d required rather creative charm work to do up the back zipper. It was a corseted dress, almost austere in its simplicity, and cut to hug her figure to the knees where it flared into a soft mermaid silhouette. She’d paired it with a heels that had been spelled into an approximation of comfort. Her wand slid into a thin concealed pocket that paralleled the boning of her bodice. She’d applied makeup, wrestled her hair into a chignon, and spritzed perfume on her pulse points before nodding to her reflection in approval.  
  
  
She had a week to make Severus Snape want her. This dress would serve as her opening salvo.  
  
  
For his part, Severus was desperately hoping that he didn’t look like a landed fish. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight uncomfortably. “You clean up well, Granger. Shall we?” He proffered an arm encased in black wool and repressed the shiver he felt as she slid her hand from bicep to wrist.  
  
  
When they arrived in the ballroom, Severus led them directly to the table closest to the small raised platform that would serve as the stage that evening.  
  
  
“Oh, must we be so close to the front?” Hermione asked shyly.  
  
Severus nodded in greeting to a passing colleague -- the head of the Belgian Potions Organization -- and spoke without turning toward her. “Unfortunately, yes. There are presentations this evening and I have to play a small role.”  
  
  
“Ah.” She signalled to a passing waiter and took two flutes of champagne from his tray, handing one to her employer. “Well, here’s to a successful two weeks, I suppose.”  
  
  
Severus sipped and did not comment.  
  
  
“I see the press is here tonight. My my, how art the mighty fallen. I’d recognize that platinum beehive anywhere. Rita Skeeter, assigned to cover a potions conference,” she murmured.  
  
  
Severus grunted. “There is a rather large announcement being made this evening, though I’m not sure how she got wind of it.”  
  
  
“She’s an excellent spy.” Hermione shrugged, sipping her own wine. “She was an illegal animagus for years; that’s how she got so much dirt on Harry and me. She’s a beetle. Registered all right and tight now, but I’m sure she still uses the form to eavesdrop when it suits her.”  
  
  
He slanted her a glance. “Good to know. Remind me to make better use of anti-eavesdropping charms whenever I say something I don’t want broadcast to the world.”  
  
  
“You do that already,” she snorted. “Oh look, it’s beginning.”  
  
  
Gretchen made her way to the front of the room at that moment and, after sending Severus a sidelong wink, mounted the stage and took her place behind the podium. She directed her wand toward her throat and amplified her voice. “ _Guten Abend und willkommen auf der dreihundertsten Versammlung des_ ,” she said before Hermione hastily flicked her wand through a silent translation charm, “of the International Congress of Potioneers. I am Gretchen Weisbrot, and I am this year’s conference organizer, so I hope very much that you enjoy your stay in beautiful Reims. I vill not bore you all vith details of ze proceedings as I am sure you haf all read your schedules. So without vurther ado, I introduce to you ze President of the ICP, Remy Sauvage.” She stepped back from the podium as a little man of perhaps a hundred and twenty approached the podium. Hermione joined the applause as the man took his place.  
  
  
“Hello, and let me also extend my welcomes to you all,” he said, his voice coming out as a slight whisper of barely accented English. “This is a very special year to for the ICP. This year we are three-hundred years old, and we celebrate our longevity as well as our accomplishments throughout the world together. As many of you are, I’m sure, aware, we will also invite several new members to join a rather elite group among us. After the sad loss of Angelique Peeters, Horace Slughorn, Raha Shamshiri, and Behan Kuznetsov over the past five years, we are at last able to induct new members to replace them as members of the _Ignis Dei_ Protectorate. I am happy to announce that after a long nomination and vetting process, we have selected four new members to add to our ranks. Please join me in welcoming Jonas Claessens, researcher from the Belgian Institute of Magical Sciences, Hermione Granger, Potions Mistress from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Niloofar Ahura, Potions Mistress of the Central Magical Institute in Oman, and Petr Orlov, Potions Master at the Durmstrang Institute. Will our inductees rise, please.”  
  
  
The assembled crowd applauded as Hermione and the other three persons mentioned stood uncomfortably. Hermione found it curious that no one else seemed to have known about their nomination to the post. A quick glance at Severus revealed only his dark eyes and unsmiling face focused on hers as he applauded her.  
  
  
“I am sure that these brilliant and able young minds will breathe new life into the Protectorate. We welcome you with open arms, and I look forward to getting to know each of you better as the week progresses. Tonight’s gala is a celebration of each of you and your future accomplishments in our ranks. It is also a celebration of all of you,” he said, turning toward the room at large, “and the research, support, and teaching that ensures our continued existence. Please, drink, dance, be merry -- and enjoy the conference.”  
  
  
He stepped down from the podium and nodded to the small string quartet at the back of the room to begin playing. Hermione noticed that he sent the person seated next to each of the inductees a brisk nod and that Severus returned it in kind. She thought that they must be the former masters of the other inductees.  
  
  
“Would you care to dance?” he asked her.  
  
  
“Is it traditional for new inductees to do so?”  
  
  
“No.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I just thought you might enjoy dancing.”  
  
  
“Oh. Well, yes. Thank you.” She rose and placed her hand in his as they took the floor, not noticing the long breath of relief he exhaled as they did so. They moved through a relatively slow foxtrot. “So let me guess. The dinner this evening with the ‘Old Boys’?”  
  
  
“Is your introduction to the rest of the Protectorate, yes,” he confirmed.  
  
  
“Why didn’t you say anything?”  
  
  
“Because it wasn’t official until the announcement. There were two other candidates from Britain, and though you are the most qualified you weren’t guaranteed the slot,” he replied.  
  
  
“Who were the others? And why was I more qualified? I’ve only been a Mistress for two years,” she said quietly.  
  
  
“Slughorn’s last two apprentices, Wanda Dawes and Edna Chatsworth, were the only others considered for the position. Dawes has been after a post in the Protectorate for years, but she hasn’t the skill to join. Edna...well, Edna has had a rather unfortunate career -- through no fault of her own -- and lacked the unblemished record to join. It doesn’t hurt that you had three publications under your belt as an apprentice, either, and another two in process.”  
  
  
“I’ve read Dawes’ work. She’s an idiot,” she muttered under her breath.  
  
  
Severus smirked as they turned around the floor. “Yes. Edna’s quite good, though. She and old Sluggy were in the midst of a horribly tawdry divorce the last time a Brit was inducted into the Protectorate. Skeeter cut her teeth as a junior staffer at the Prophet on the break-up. Old wizarding families, an apprenticeship turned marriage, and a cheating spouse -- if Skeeter is to be believe. As a result of the ensuing scandal, I edged Edna out of the running and was inducted over her. She was terribly kind about it, despite the upset. She’s several years my senior and it really should have gone to her.”  
  
  
Hermione smiled at that. “You introduced me to Edna at the Scottish regional conference. We had coffee. She’s lovely, and a dab hand at healing potions.”  
  
  
“She is. We should make it a point to catch up with her later in the conference.”  
  
  
When they returned to their table, Hermione found herself inundated with a small stream of well-wishers and press. She was just thanking a Portuguese wizard for their conversation when she turned toward the familiar face of Rita Skeeter.  
  
  
“Well, well, well. Hermione Granger, war heroine, Potions Mistress, and new member of the Protectorate. What a lucky life you must lead,” the older woman said with thinly veiled contempt. Hermione could smell wine on her breath; apparently Rita had tippled one too many. Hardly surprising. Harry, Draco, and Ginny had made it their single-minded mission to limit Rita’s effectiveness in _The Prophet_ after the war. It didn’t hurt that Draco’s father had purchased the paper shortly after his post-war exoneration and modeled its reformation on, of all things, Muggle newspaper reporting practices. Rita had long ago been demoted to the dregs of the Magical News section and now spent her life touring the conference circuit.  
  
  
With a sigh, Hermione responded politely. “Hello Rita. How nice to see you again. Did you have a question for me, or did you need to speak to Headmaster Snape?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder to see Severus deep in conversation with Niloofar Ahura.  
  
  
“Oh, I suppose I’ll get around to interviewing you properly soon enough. Unless you want to spill some of the secrets of the Protectorate now, Granger?” Hermione rolled her eyes at Rita’s saccharine tones. “No? Pity, that. Now that that duty is discharged, I suppose I’ll try my hand elsewhere. I don’t know how to contain my excitement at the promise of such scintillating conversation.” Hermione watched as the woman snagged another glass of champagne from a roving waiter and tottered off to the next inductee, Jonas Claessens.  
  
  
“Was she drunk?” Hermione heard a her employer’s voice say over her shoulder. She saw that Severus and Niloofar had stopped conversing to watch Rita, who was now sliding her arm down Jonas’ in sickening attempt at sloppy seduction.  
  
  
“I do believe so,” Severus replied ponderously. “Hermione, I thought you’d like to meet Niloofar Ahura before tonight’s dinner. There won’t be much time for talking once things get going, and you do have an overlap in your research interests. Niloofar works with pediatric potions.”  
  
  
“Oh, brilliant!” Hermione said. “I’ve been working on a pediatric repression potion for the Werewolf virus. I’d love to pick your brain about infant dosing and growth spurt shifts.”  
  
  
“It would be my pleasure,” the young woman responded with a smile. “Come, let’s find a corner and escape the crowd for a bit. I read your last article on isolation theory and thought of a way you might be able to test your hypothesis using a new distillation procedure I’ve been working on.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“You and Niloo seem to have become instant friends,” Severus commented as they arrived in a darkened street not far from the cathedral.  
  
  
“She’s brilliant. We’re going to have lunch tomorrow and discuss the possibility of a collaborative project over the summer. She asked me to invite you as well,” Hermione said with a little smile. “I think she has rather a crush on you, actually.”  
  
  
Severus snorted. “Doubtful.”  
  
  
“No, really! I do wish you’d stop putting yourself down all the time. You said the same thing when Rosmerta comped your ale last week. When will you accept that you’re a rather attractive man, Severus?” she huffed, though she rather hoped that Severus didn’t return Niloo’s interest.  
  
  
“Rosmerta comped my drink because she lost a bet, Hermione. And I don’t doubt Niloo’s interest because of any personal failing -- though I do own a mirror, thank you very much. It’s just that you’re rather more her type than I am,” he said with a smirk. “Not that I don’t appreciate such a full-throated defense.”  
  
  
Hermione was grateful for the dimly lit streets as she blushed from breast to ears. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”  
  
  
Her companion grunted in response as they walked down the street. Hermione concentrated on the satisfying sound of her heels clicking along the pavement rather than her own embarrassment at possibly having tipped her hand to her employer. They walked along in silence for a few minutes before she spoke again.  
  
  
“Where are we going?”  
  
  
Severus smiled cryptically. “It’s just up ahead,” he said, gesturing toward a dark door in the high wall that ran alongside the road.  
  
  
They passed under a long, vine-covered arbor and up to another dark door, which admitted them to a close foyer covered in warm velvets and brocades. A maitre d’hotel took their cloaks and led them through a series of small rooms lit by gas lamps, of all things. Their destination was a circular chamber with a plush, plum-colored banquette and round table filling the entirety of the room. Doors to what Hermione presumed were still other small, cozy rooms stood on either side of the table, and Remy Sauvage stood rose from his place to welcome them upon their arrival. The room was already half-filled with the other members of the Protectorate, who greeted Severus and Hermione warmly. Gretchen Weisbrot smiled and gestured for the two to slide in next to her.  
  
  
“Hermione, lovely dress. Severus, vy haf you not complimented your Potions Mistress on her choice of attire? _Sie sind langsam, mein Freund. Jemand schnappen sie weg._ ” The blonde woman winked at Hermione as she finished and she wished, not for the first time, that she’d taken the time to study more languages. She spoke French and passable Spanish and Italian, but German was so far out of her wheel house as to be incomprehensible.  
  
  
“ _Das ist genug, Gretchen,_ ” Severus snapped. “ _Es wird passieren in meiner eigenen Zeit._ ” He turned toward his companion, who watched the exchange with wide eyes. “My apologies, Hermione. We’re being quite rude.”  
  
  
She sent him a small smile. “I don’t mind, Severus. It’s fascinating to watch you catch up with your colleagues outside of Hogwarts.”  
  
  
“Bah. Your employer is being a -- how do you say it in England? Slow top. Yes. But, _Des Teufels liebstes Möbelstück ist die lange Bank_ , Severus. _Und ein Teufel will dein Mädchen für sich selbst,_ ” she said, glancing at Petr Orlov, who appeared to be making calves’ eyes at Hermione.  
  
  
“I’ve always prefered _erst denken, dann handeln_ , myself,” Severus responded, taking a slow sip of water.  
  
  
“Like I said. Slow top. You are hopeless, Severus,” she said, waving her hand as Jonas and Niloo entered the room and took their seats on either side of the table.  
  
  
“I do believe that’s all of us,” Remy said, closing the doors and warding them against further intrusion with silencing, anti-eavesdropping, and repelling spells. “Let us begin.”  
  
  
“I would like to welcome each of you to our annual gathering of the _Ignis Dei_ Protectorate. Tonight is the first of three nights of our meeting. There is business to discuss, of course, but for tonight we will concentrate our efforts on welcoming our newest members. Let the initiation begin!” the little man said with a grin.  
  
  
Hermione leaned toward Severus and whispered in his ear, “What exactly does he mean by _initiation_?”  
  
  
Severus smirked and shot her a glance before responding. “Ah. It’s a long-held tradition that we initiate the new members by listing and toasting each of their accomplishments. We then list our own accomplishments and you toast us.”  
  
  
“But there are only four of us and at least twenty of you.”  
  
  
The smirk broadened. “Yes.”  
  
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes and gripped her clutch. “So...our initiation consists of us getting obscenely drunk.”  
  
  
“Yes.”  
  
  
She made a humming sound in her throat. “Is this some sort of last-man-standing contest?”  
  
  
Severus snorted. “No. It’s a get drunk and spill all your embarrassing secrets contest. I get to participate as well. I’ve been saving that one about you, the polyjuice, and the cat fur for years for just this occasion.”  
  
  
“Just remember that we’re sharing a room, Severus. And that I can very well hex you in your sleep.”  
  
  
“Not if you’re too drunk to move,” he replied cheerily. He noted that her grip on her clutch tightened. He could well understand her trepidation; Hermione was a notorious lightweight. “Incidentally, the room on the left is a lavatory. You may need to make use of it if you need to vomit halfway through the proceedings. This is, incidentally, why the initiates sit at the ends of the banquette.”  
  
  
“How thoughtful,” she bit off. “Tell me, _boss_ , has anyone ever died of alcohol poisoning at one of these events?”  
  
  
“Hermione, you’re sitting in a room full of the most accomplished potions masters in the world. Surely you don’t think we’ve failed to bring backup measures to ensure your health.”  
  
  
“Nice to know _someone_ is thinking ahead.” She grimaced as ornate snifters appeared around the table. “We couldn’t toast with wine?”  
  
  
“Goodness, no. These little parties are used as an excuse to sample the regional alcohols of the host country. If you’ll look down at the list in front of you, you’ll note that we’re toasting with brandy this evening. And you’ll get to finish the evening with pastis. Hm. Better you than me.”  
  
  
Hermione paled at the thought of trying twenty-six varieties of brandy in one evening and capping it off with sickeningly sweet pastis. “Severus, if I survive this evening I’m going to ensure that I slip babbling brew into your goblet at the high table.”  
  
  
Severus chuckled. His ability to nose a potion in his goblet was notorious; they both knew there was no way she could ever make good on her threat.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
At five toasts into the evening, Hermione was thoroughly drunk. She was listing rather severely to the right and her head was resting on her mentor’s shoulder -- a not-unwelcome development -- but she could still count all the fingers on her hand and come up with the number five. She wasn’t called the brightest witch of her age for nothing. Hermione had three sober-up potions in her near-bottomless purse. It was all that she’d brought with her for the entire conference, but she knew she’d need at least two of them tonight. She was waiting until she could no longer count five fingers on a hand before she slipped into the loo and took the first sober-up.  
  
  
“Severus, your potions mistress is falling asleep on your shoulder. That’s against the rules!” chortled a merry Remy. The non-initiates were well into their cups, but each had switched to sedately sipping at smaller tasting portions of their brandies. The initiates were still being poured full servings of each brandy. Hermione no longer knew whether she was drinking cognac or armagnac. They’d all rather started to taste the same.  
  
  
“I wasn’t aware that there were any rules other than to get everyone drunk, Remy,” Severus responded with a broad grin.  
  
  
 _Interesting_ , Hermione thought. _Drunken Severus genuinely smiles. Good to know._  
  
  
“I’m awake. Just resting my drinking hand!” Hermione slurred.  
  
  
“More like your drinking head,” Severus responded, bouncing his shoulder in an attempt to get his former apprentice to sit up straight...ish.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Ten more drinks and a sneaky sobering potion later, Hermione was nearly asleep on the table. The potion had helped her regain some of her equilibrium, but she’d mistimed it. She’d quaffed it about two drinks too late, and it had merely taken her from ridiculously drunk to acceptably drunk. She was no longer sure about the presence of her hands, much less the number of fingers on each appendage.  
  
  
Niloo and Jonas appeared (if blearily) to be far worse off than she. Petr seemed to be unaffected. She could only assumed that he drank enough in his spare time to be somewhat able to handle the effects of fifteen -- oh Gods, make that sixteen -- glasses of brandy in a sitting.  
  
  
“Sheverush,” she whispered to the table. “Sheverush, I’m dying. Tell Sharry and Runuld I loved them, but not like that.” She pillowed her head on her arms and closed her eyes.  
  
  
Severus leaned down and murmured in her ear. “Go to the lavatory, Hermione. Take one of the sobering potions I know you have in your purse and return. If you quit early, you’ll never hear the end of it from this lot. I have brewed something for you when we return for the evening that will ensure your liver lives on after this.”  
  
  
“I hate you, you know,” she muttered, fumbling for her purse. “You might have a cute tush, but you’re bloody evil.” Without further ado, Hermione crawled over Niloo, who was snoring softly with her head tilted back against the banquette, and made her way out of the room. She ignored the stunned look on Severus’ face and the smirk on Gretchen’s.  
  
  
“ _Zu viel Denken, Severus. Sie sollten eher früher als später handeln._ ”  
  
  
“Gretchen, do be so kind as to pass me the water carafe. Also, _Verpiss dich._ ”  
  
  
Hermione heard the German woman chuckle darkly as she closed, then slumped against the loo door. She fumbled in her clutch for the second sober-up potion of the evening and prayed that it might stave off the amazing hangover she was going to have in the morning. Or was it already morning? She didn’t trust herself to use her wand even to check the time in her state.  
  
  
Somehow she made it back to the table. And somehow she made it through the rest of the evening. The polyjuice tale had been told, but she’d been too woozy for any of the embarrassment to sink in. Unfortunately, she didn’t think she’d remember any of the other embarrassing stories that had been thrown around the table.  
  
  
Niloo had long ago drifted off to sleep. She and Jonas had been levitated into the room through the door to the right of the banquette where, Hermione saw, several chaises were available for those too drunk to function could retire. Most of the attendees had switched places through the course of the night, and Hermione found herself sandwiched between Petr and Severus. She was leaning on the latter again when a hand high on her thigh jolted her out of her tipsy reverie.  
  
  
She felt Severus stiffen next to her, then watched in fascination as Petr passed out. She pushed his now-limp hand off the slick fabric of her dress.  
  
  
“I believe Hermione is the last woman standing of our initiates, Remy,” Severus said.  
  
  
“So she is!” the little man chirped.  
  
  
Hermione closed one eye to bring the head of the Protectorate back into focus. “Do I get a prize?”  
  
  
“Oh, you do indeed!” He reached into his pocket and slid a small vial across the table. “This is the first half. Drink it before you go to bed this evening.”  
  
  
“And the other half?” she asked.  
  
  
“You’ll find that a crate containing a bottle of each of tonight’s offerings will be delivered to your rooms tomorrow morning. Congratulations, Mistress Granger!” He smiled to the room at large as Hermione groaned. “We’ll reconvene at the same time tomorrow night. Good night, all!”  
  
  
Severus poked at Hermione to get her to move out of the banquette, pocketing her prize potion at the same time. “Move along, Granger,” he said, then rose to support her. “Just put your arm around my waist and I’ll get you back to the hotel.” She wasn’t so drunk that she couldn’t hear the smirk in his voice.  
  
  
“I hate you and all potion-kind, you know,” she slurred.  
  
  
“Be nice or I won’t ensure your recovery when we get back,” he said, taking most of her weight as he maneuvered her out the door. He glanced down. “If we apparate to the room, will you vomit on my shoes?”  
  
  
“Yes,” she replied sullenly, drooping further in his arms.  
  
  
“Good to know.” Without warning, he gripped her shoulders and spun them into nothingness, reappearing not in the hotel room, but in its bath.  
  
  
She had only a moment think that it took incredible skill to apparate two people and land only one in the bathtub before she unceremoniously pitched forward and vomited down the drain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Guten Abend und willkommen auf der dreihundertsten Versammlung des" = Good Evening and Welcome to the three-hundredth meeting of the --
> 
> "Sie sind langsam, mein Freund. Jemand schnappen sie weg." = You are slow, my friend. You should snap her up.
> 
> "Das ist genug, Gretchen, es wird passieren in meiner eigenen Zeit.” = That's enough, Gretchen. I will do so in my own time.
> 
> "Des Teufels liebstes Möbelstück ist die lange Bank, Severus. Und ein Teufel will dein Mädchen für sich selbst." = The devil's favorite piece of furniture is the long bench, Severus. And a devil wants your girl for himself. (Basically, don't procrastinate what can be done now.)
> 
> "Erst denken, dann handeln" = First think, then act.
> 
> "Zu viel Denken, Severus. Sie sollten eher früher als später handeln" = Too ,much thinking, Severus. You should act sooner rather than later.
> 
> "Verpiss dich." = Fuck off.


	3. Too Much Cognac

Severus banished the remains of her dinner and ran a hot bath with plenty of concealing bubbles, telling Hermione to strip and crawl in while he fetched what she’d need to survive the next day. She obeyed on automatic by vanishing her dress and shoes, failing to feel any sense of modesty in her sudden desire to be immersed in something warm and comforting and not smelling of alcohol or sick.  
  
  
She missed entirely the dark look her stunned employer sent her before he rushed from the room.  
  
  
Once she was safely immersed in the bath, he returned with three potions. The first -- her prize for being the most stubborn and stupid -- was an industrial strength sobering and anti-nausea potion. The second was a basic anti-toxin and the third a calming solution. The combination left her feeling floaty and increasingly lethargic, but at least the room was no longer spinning.  
  
  
“Finish up in there, Granger. You need sleep to help your body repair from the abuses you’ve subjected it to tonight.”  
  
  
She snorted, then sneezed when some of the bubbles went up her nose. “I didn’t subject it to anything. Your lot subjected it to that abuse. Bunch of sadists.”  
  
  
Hermione could hear his chuckle through the door. “And you, too, will get to subject new initiates to such abuse in your own time. Your nightshirt is on the counter. Up and out, Granger.”  
  
  
Hermione gingerly rose out of the bath and reached for the towel on the hook over the door. She’d managed to just snag the edge of her towel when her feet slipped in the now-drained tub and she landed back in the bath with a thump and a shriek.  
  
  
The door to the bath burst open.  
  
  
“Are you alright?” he asked.  
  
  
Hermione moaned in response.  
  
  
“Come on. Let me help.” She noted that Severus was in his pyjamas as he leaned down to help her from the bath and realized that she was still rather completely naked. “Um. Can I trust you to brush your teeth on your own?” he asked, his hand lingering on her arm. His cheeks were flushed and she noticed that he was steadfastly maintaining eye contact to avoid looking down at her body.  
  
  
Hermione nodded, drawing her arm up to cover her breasts. Severus turned and sped from the room. She limped toward the sink to finish her ablutions. Except for what she was sure would be a magnificent bruise on her bum, she felt almost normal. _Thank Merlin for the miracles of potions_.  
  
  
When she emerged from the bath, she noted that Severus was already in bed and turned away from her, two empty potions bottles on his nightstand. The first was a sobering potion not unlike the ones she brewed, but the second surprised her. It was a half-full bottle of dark blue liquid with silver flecks suspended in the mixture. Only two things looked like that when brewed properly: pre-natal vitamin solution and a deflating potion most commonly used by hormonal adolescents or wizards suffering from priapism.  
  
  
Hermione pondered her former master, hoping beyond hope that she wasn’t the only one with this absurd crush.  
  
  
Gathering her Gryffindor courage around her, she walked toward the figure under the covers. Severus was breathing unevenly and clearly feigning sleep, so she sat on the side of his bed and touched his shoulder. With a sigh of resignation, he turned over to face her. “Can I help you?” he snapped.  
  
Hermione withdrew her hand for a moment before using it to brush the hair off his face, noting how he stilled beneath her touch. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she said, ignoring the stunned look on his face.  
  
  
She rose off the bed and turned toward her own when a hand shot from beneath the covers to snag her wrist. She turned to face Severus as he sat up in the bed, then stumbled toward him as he gave her wrist a slight tug.  
  
  
“Are you sober?” he asked urgently.  
  
  
“Painfully so,” she said with a wry smile.  
  
  
“Good.” It was all he said before his lips crashed into hers, his hand drawing her down onto the bed with him. Hermione’s lips parted as she gasped in surprise, and he used the opportunity to slowly, tentatively sliding his tongue inside her mouth to mate with hers. Twin groans rose as she lifted a hand to skim through his fine hair. Her eyes closed as she gave herself over to the sensation of finally, finally kissing Severus Snape.  
  
  
A long minute later they broke apart, panting. Hermione blinked at her former master, her employer, her friend in shock. He simply stared at her, his heart in his black eyes. She watched relief race through them and his eyes crinkle at the corners as a slow grin stole across her face.  
  
  
“Thank Merlin,” was all he said as he leaned forward to touch his lips to hers again.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Hermione woke the next morning feeling rested and warm. A bit over-warm, if truth be told. Severus apparently transformed into a space heater whenever unconscious. She was positively roasting.  
  
  
Then again, she was pressed against Severus. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made. She wriggled, turning to press her cooler front and frozen nose to his chest, then smiled to herself when the action caused him to jolt from sleep and grip her tighter.  
  
  
“You’re cold,” he muttered.  
  
  
“Just my front. My back is all toasty, thank you very much.”  
  
  
He snorted and buried his nose in her hair. “Smells nice. Why’re you in my bed again?”  
  
  
She chortled before answering. “Because you fell asleep after snogging my lips numb.”  
  
  
“Right. So that wasn’t a brandy-fueled hallucination. Good to know.”  
  
  
Hermione glanced up to see his eyes had opened enough for his eyes to focus on her face. “Nope. We engaged in some seriously sober snogging, Severus. It was lovely.” She stretched to place a peck the tip of his nose, grinning at his grimace.  
  
  
“Is that all it was? Snogging?” he asked carefully.  
  
  
She paused, closing her eyes briefly. “I suppose that rather depends on you,” she finally replied. “If that’s all you wanted it to be, then that’s all I suppose it was.”  
  
  
“And if that wasn’t all I wanted it to be?” he asked just as carefully, drawing back to look her more fully in the face.  
  
  
She held her breath. “Then I suppose we’re overdue for a longer conversation.”  
  
  
“Would it be presumptuous to have said longer conversation over breakfast? And, perhaps, after a shower on my part?”  
  
  
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “That sounds lovely.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Hermione stirred a single cube of sugar into her café au lait as she watched Severus’ long fingers as they wielded the jam knife over his tartine. “So,” she prompted.  
  
  
Severus glanced at her, pausing to collect his thoughts. “I’m rather unused to such conversations,” he finally said.  
  
  
“I can’t say I’ve had many myself.”  
  
  
He nodded. “I’m...attracted to you.”  
  
  
Hermione gave him a soft look and sipped her coffee. “And I you. I haven been for some time, actually.” She took heart in the look of surprised pleasure on his face.  
  
  
“I see. That is very reassuring. I’ll admit that my attraction has also been of some duration.” He set his knife on his plate, taking care to align it perfectly before picking up his bread for a bite. He chewed and swallowed before continuing. “And last night we acted on that attraction, albeit in a limited fashion.”  
  
  
“We did,” she replied. “And I enjoyed it immensely. I would like it to continue.”  
  
  
“So did I. So _would_ I,” he replied.  
  
  
“But you’re my employer. And my mentor. I have questions.” She waited for his nod to continue. “Is it ethical for me to pursue a relationship with you? I mean, if that’s what you want,” she finished hastily.  
  
  
“It is what I want. And it’s not unethical, so long as our relationship is discreet. Not secret, by any means, but not...obvious. And there would need to be a clear understanding that decisions made as your superior have nothing to do with my relationship with you,” he stated firmly.  
  
  
She frowned. “I should hope not. I wouldn’t want special treatment.”  
  
  
“Then I foresee no problems there.”  
  
  
She snorted and stabbed a piece of melon. “That seems unlikely, doesn’t it? We both have tempers, Severus.”  
  
  
“Hm. So we do. Let us make an agreement, then. Professional arguments will take place behind closed doors in my office. Personal arguments in my quarters or yours. And I suggest we apprise Minerva of our situation and ask her to serve as mediator as needed in professional matters such as raises or expanded duties.”  
  
  
Hermione bit her lip. “That seems fair. At least, it goes to great lengths to protect me from any abuse of power, not that I believe you’d be so unfair. But what about my tenure review in two years? If we’re together you’ll be accused of bias. If we’re not, you may still be accused of bias.”  
  
  
Severus chuckled as he sipped his coffee. “Hermione, you’re already slated for early tenure. The board approved it over the summer.”  
  
  
“Way to bury the lede, Severus!”  
  
  
“I was going to tell you upon our return to the school. I believe Minerva and Filius were planning a party of sorts.”  
  
  
“Oh. Well, I suppose the only things I’d need to know now are what kind of relationship you want.”  
  
  
He frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”  
  
  
“Well, would it be sexual?”  
  
  
He smirked. “I very much hope so.”  
  
  
“Are we talking long-term?” she asked.  
  
  
He nodded slowly. “I suspect it will be of some duration, yes.”  
  
  
“Are you particularly adverse to any of my long-term goals? A career, marriage, children?”  
  
“I think we’ve established that your career is secure, and you know I’ve always supported -- even assisted in -- your research. As for marriage and children, those are things we would discuss if we remain together. I am not adverse to either, but I believe in planning for such things.”  
  
  
She giggled. “I think we both know how I feel about planning, Severus.” She paused, stirring her coffee again. “Is there anything you need from me? I’m not sure of what assurances you would like.”  
  
  
With a little sigh, he stilled her hand. “Hermione, I’ve known you for more than half your life. I’ve watched you grow from an annoying know-it-all into a beautiful, intelligent, faithful, loyal, and thoughtful woman. Who is still a know-it-all,” he said through his crooked smile. “We have literally battled together, both in war and in the classroom. There is no one I would trust more to have at my back, to teach in my school, or to guard my heart. These are things that I know to be true. The rest we can tackle as it comes.”  
  
  
Hermione exhaled a long breath. “That has to be the single most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”  
  
  
Severus smirked. “I wasn’t aware that pragmatism was considered romantic.”  
  
  
She quirked an eyebrow in a style reminiscent of the man in front of her. “Hello, I’m Hermione Granger. Have we met?”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
At the end of the second full day of the conference, Hermione was convinced of two things: First, that she was lucky her mentor had prepared potions to ensure that she had her wits about her. And second, that Rita Skeeter was a scheming harpy whose articles weren’t worth the paper they were written on.  
  
  
Gretchen and her colleague, Gunter, rushed toward Severus and Hermione when they made their appearance for the morning tea break.  
  
  
“Severus! Haf you seen zis?” she shrieked, waving a copy of _Le Monde Magique_ in his face.  
  
  
“Good morning, Gretchen. No, I’m afraid we both slept rather late this morning due to last night’s overindulgence. What is it?”  
  
  
“A travesty,” Gunter intoned tragically. “Someone talked to that wretched English reporter.  
 _Schreckliche Frau, Hündin Spion_!” he spat.  
  
  
Severus and Hermione shot one another telling glances as they skimmed the headline:  
  
  
 _Reproduit avec la permission du_ The Daily Prophet:  
  
  
 _ **L'élite des potions? Débauches ivres dans un restaurant parisien. Le public demande savoir: est**_ **Ignis Dei _toujours pertinente?_**  
  
  
 _Par Rita Skeeter, traduction par Anaïs Dufois._  
  
  
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Hermione scoffed. “Does she never quit? One night of drinking and suddenly we’re a lot of debauched, antiquated academic freaks?”  
  
  
“My dear, we are all that. But we are by no means obsolete,” Severus said. “I’m afraid that Ms. Skeeter represents the very worst of the British wizarding tabloid press. She is likely going to create scandal where none exists in a pathetic attempt to ingratiate herself with her editor. I suspect she is rather fed up with the academic beat.”  
  
  
Hermione sighed. “She’s registered now, so I have nothing to hold over her in order to make her stop. Circe, where does she even get this stuff. Remy warded that room within an inch of its life!” She looked at Gretchen and Gunter. “We’d better warn the rest of the Protectorate. Skeeter is an animagus. A small, blue beetle with spectacle markings around the eyes. Any room where private conversations take place should be thoroughly warded first.”  
  
  
Gunter’s eyes widened in alarm. “Yes. I vill tell ze others.” The man scuttled off as quickly as his legs would carry him.  
  
  
Severus looked around the room, his eyes landing on Jonas and Petr, who were deep in conversation near the coffee service. “I suspect she managed to corner one of the new initiates whilst they were incapacitated. I exclude you from suspicion of course, Hermione, as you were with me the entire evening.”  
  
  
“Oh really?” asked Gretchen salaciously.  
  
  
“There was a mistake with the rooms, Gretchen. We’re sharing a space, not a bed,” Severus lied through his teeth.  
  
  
“Oh.” The woman looked positively crestfallen.  
  
  
“Why don’t you fill Remy in on the Skeeter situation. I will work on telling my acquaintances here colleagues and encouraging them to spread the word. Hermione, perhaps you can get a copy of the original story so that we might see exactly what accusations have been launched against us.”  
  
  
They’d done just that and within an hour, nearly everyone at the conference was giving Rita Skeeter the side-eye or casting surreptitious charms to ensure their conversations remained private. The list of accusations in Rita’s article had been lengthy and vitriolic. Hermione and Severus were sleeping together (which was, unfortunately, true in essence), everyone in the _Ignis Dei_ was forced to drink too much and reveal their darkest secrets, the Protectorate served only to host multiple lavish meals at the extent of the ICP, Remy Sauvage was a dotty old man with a fetish for young women and men alike, and -- perhaps worst of all -- Skeeter suggested that the group didn’t actually protect any secrets at all.  
  
  
The article was an utter disaster for the _Ignis Dei_ and the ICP. Every potioneer in attendance vowed to cut Skeeter off at the knees by making themselves, and their conversation, inaccessible. As a result the vendor room and coffee lounge were positively buzzing with muffled conversations, and so it came as no great surprise when Rita herself grabbed Hermione by the arm during the afternoon break.  
  
  
“You little _bitch_!” she hissed. “You couldn’t keep it to yourself. You had to tell all and sundry that I’m a beetle and now no one -- absolutely _no one_ \-- will let me near them. How am I supposed to do my job with your _constant interference_.”  
  
  
Hermione turned away from her conversation with Edna Chatsworth and glanced down at the red lacquered nails digging into her bicep. “Rita, kindly remove your hands from my person before I remove them for you. Might I suggest you do your job and report on the advances in potions research that are being reported here rather than concentrating your efforts on worthless innuendo and supposition?”  
  
  
Rita flung her hands up in the air. “Oh, of course! I’m so sorry. I forgot that I shouldn’t deign to touch the great Hermione Granger,” she said, her voice rising. “Heaven forbid I sully her with my presence. The Great Hermione Granger, protector of all from the _evil_ machinations of an _honest newsperson_ just trying to do her job! The _wise_ Hermione Granger, who thinks normal people want to read about musty academics! Mark my words, Granger. You’ll get yours!” Skeeter whirled around in a tangle of blonde bouffant hair and satin pencil skirt and stalked her way out of the crowded lounge.  
  
  
“I bet if you threw your coffee on her she’d melt,” Edna commented.  
  
  
Hermione couldn’t help it. She erupted in peals of laughter, her shoulders shaking as Edna began to chuckle too. Rita shrieked in anger from across the room, causing the rest of the room to join in the laughter. “Go home, Miss Skeeter! We have no use for your kind here!” chortled Remy, breaking from his conversation with a Turkish potions distributer.  
  
  
“Well, that told her,” Severus’ voice murmured in Hermione’s ear. She smiled and repressed the shudder his voice elicited, turning to smile at her mentor and...boyfriend? She’d have to talk to him about terminology.  
  
  
Severus turned to Edna with a short bow. “You’re looking lovely as always, Edna. I hope we can catch later in the week. For now, would you excuse us? I need a word with my Potions Professor.”  
  
  
Edna waved him off. “Go on, you charmer. Hermione, I want to finish our conversation later. Your suggestions might make for some interesting collaborative research.”  
  
  
“It will be my pleasure,” Hermione responded with genuine warmth. “Excuse me.” She followed Severus to the lounge’s door and toward the elevator that led to their room. “What was so important that you needed to speak to me immediately?” she asked once the door had closed behind them.  
  
  
“Absolutely nothing. But the last session of the day is on Doxy wing harvesting techniques and I assumed you would be uninterested. It seemed more likely that you would enjoy a glass of wine and some time alone before the Protectorate dinner this evening.”  
  
  
Hermione bit back the grin that wanted to spread across her face. “And what if I’m interested in new techniques for de-winging Doxies?”  
  
  
Severus smirked down at her as he whirled to press her against the elevator door, pressing his hips into hers. “Then, my dear, you are entirely out of luck,” he said.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The second Protectorate meeting was infinitely more boring than the first. The room was warded within an inch of its life and libation was certainly less plentiful than the previous evening. The meeting focused on the duties of the assembled members, namely the memorization of the _Ignis Dei_ potion and the vetting of new members for the group. They nominated Gretchen to replace Slughorn as the Protector-elect to follow Remy and enjoyed a simple meal in considerably more subdued fashion when compared to the previous evening. They adjourned early in deference to the still-recovering initiates (it turned out that all initiates were issued industrial strength recovery potions, but only Hermione had received a case of liquor). Everyone chose to take the leisurely walk back to the hotel and retire to the bar -- less to drink than to connect with colleagues and network.  
  
  
The crowd in the hotel bar began to thin as the night progressed and as it neared midnight only a few diehards were still chatting around the low tables and settees. Hermione had been sipping at sparkling water with lime all evening, allowing those around her to assume she was drinking gin and tonic whilst giving her abused liver a much needed reprieve. Unfortunately so much effervescence had the side effect of drawing her away from Severus at regular intervals. She sent him an apologetic smile as, once again, she rose and made her way down the short hallway to the public toilet.  
  
  
She was just outside the door when a shriek sounded throughout the building. Drawing her wand, Hermione raced around the corner to see a sobbing Niloofar crouched over the battered and bloodied body of Rita Skeeter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Schreckliche Frau, Hündin Spion!" = Horrible woman, bitch spy!
> 
> "Reproduit avec la permission du" = Reprinted with the permission of...
> 
> "L'élite des potions? Débauches ivres dans un restaurant parisien. Le public demande savoir: est Ignis Dei toujours pertinente?" = The Potions Elite? Drunken debauchery in a Parisian Resturant. The public demands to know: Is the Ignis Dei still relevant?
> 
> "traduction par" = translation by


	4. Crushed

Hermione rushed forward and knelt by Niloofar, casting a quick diagnostic spell over Skeeter’s prone form. The runes that displayed over her body came back a deep purple.  
  
  
“Step back, Niloo. She’s dead. We need to floo the authorities.” She stood and drew the woman away from the body, folding her into a comforting hug as other conference attendees began to rush over from the bar area. Hermione was relieved and unsurprised to see Severus at the front of the crowd. She looked up at him and repeated herself. “We need to floo the authorities.”  
  
  
Severus gave a terse nod toward Gretchen, who had joined him at the front of the crowd. She caught his eye and nodded in return before scurrying off to contact the French authorities. Severus simply gathered Hermione by his side and cast a stasis spell over Skeeter’s battered body, then, almost as an afterthought, a screening spell to obscure her body from view. He held his hand out to Hermione. “Come. We’ll go wait in the lounge. You too, Niloofar.”  
  
  
They walked back to the lounge and were immediately served with a carafe of water. Hermione poured Niloo a glass, which she clutched in shaking hands while they waited for the French authorities to arrive. Severus and Hermione sat in calm silence, each too used to death to allow themselves an emotional reaction until they were alone. Many of the other conference attendees escaped to their rooms, eager to remove themselves from the grisly scene, but Gretchen, Gunter, Edna, and Petr joined them in their silent vigil.  
  
  
Soon enough, the click of heels sounded on the stone walkway leading toward the bar and lounge. Hermione looked up at the approach of a woman who looked as though she’d stepped straight out of a noir film. She wore a red trench coat and matching fedora with black patent stilettos, and carried her wand with a panache that seemed to proclaim her nationality above all else.  
  
  
“Good evening,” the woman said said in crisp English. “I am Heloïse Poirot, _Inspecteur Magique spécial_ for the _Département de la Justice in the Ministére Magique_. May I ask who found the body?”  
  
  
Niloofar raised a shaking hand, but Hermione piped in. “Niloo found the body and I found her just a moment after she screamed for help.”  
  
  
A twitch of the wand had Heloïse’s notepad and dictaquill floating behind her. “And your names, please?”  
  
  
“Niloofar Ahura and Hermione Granger,” she replied.  
  
  
“Granger? The war heroine?” Heloïse asked with interest.  
  
  
Hermione merely colored and nodded her head.  
  
  
“Very well. I would like to begin by questioning Ms -- pardon, Mistress Ahura. May I ask if you have been drinking this evening?”  
  
  
Niloo shook her head. “I haven’t, no. I had too much last night and wanted to avoid alcohol this evening.”  
  
  
The inspector nodded. “That is convenient. We may request a pensieve memory of the event, if you’re willing. Come with me please.” The woman waited for Niloo to rise before striding off toward one of the more private conference rooms.  
  
  
Severus frowned at the retreating figures. “Something is not right here.” He closed his eyes and concentrated for a long moment before a patronus erupted from his wand. He focused his gaze on the shimmering doe and watched as it bowed its head in deference and ran for the lobby door.  
  
  
“Who did you send your doe to, Severus?” Hermione asked quietly.  
  
  
“Kingsley. Skeeter may have been a menace, but she’s a British citizen. There should be at least one British authority in attendance during the investigation.”  
  
  
Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “Heloïse Poirot. It’s as though I’ve stepped into an Agatha Christie novel. She even dresses the part.”  
  
  
Severus shot her a confused look. “The Poirots have a long history of careers in law enforcement in Belgium, England, and France. Hercule was hardly first or the last.”  
  
  
She laughed aloud before catching the look in her almost-lover’s eyes. “You don’t mean to tell me Hercule Poirot was a real person!” she said in disbelief.  
  
  
“Of course he was! Hermione, I thought you were well-read,” he tsked. “Agatha Christie is one of the most successful authors of the magical world, for all that she was a squib. She and Poirot had a long-running affair for years after the Great War.”  
  
  
Hermione continued to stare at Severus. “You know, the longer I live in the wizarding world, the more I realize that I know absolutely nothing about it.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I spent my entire life believing that Agatha Christie was simply an eccentric mystery writer from Devon.”  
  
  
“And so she was,” he said, reaching out to pat Hermione’s knee. He glanced up as the inspector re-entered the room.  
  
  
“Mistress Granger and Master Snape. I believe you are both previously acquainted with the deceased?”  
  
  
“We are,” Severus said. “Though only loosely so.”  
  
  
“I will require your assistance this evening. Everyone else may retire for the night, but I must ask that you do not leave the hotel before we have released you to do so. Thank you in advance for your compliance and I apologize for any inconvenience. Mistress Granger, Master Snape? If you please?” She gestured toward the conference room that Niloo had entered not long ago.  
  
  
Hermione and Severus stood and made to follow the inspector toward the room when they were interrupted by the appearance of a familiar figure coming through the lobby door.  
  
“Inspector Poirot? Harry Potter, Senior Auror for the Ministry of Magic. Minister Shacklebolt has sent me to liaise and assist with the investigation of the death of a British citizen.” He turned and nodded his head toward the two Hogwarts professors. “Severus, Hermione. I’m sorry to see you under such circumstances.”  
  
  
“Auror Potter?” asked Heloïse, eyeing the youngish man from head to toe. He had clearly dressed in a hurry; his shirt and tie were rumpled and his hair was even more of a mess than normal. The scar on his forehead, long faded to a silvery lightning bolt, stood out in the dim lighting. “I did not request assistance.”  
  
  
“No, you did not, which I’m sure your Minister of Magic will hear about in the morning. However that’s not my concern or yours at the moment. Suffice it to say, someone contacted the British Minister and he asked me to assist in your investigation. I’m at your disposal, Madame.”  
  
  
“Hmph. Well. I was about to question Mistress Granger and Master Snape about their observations this evening and their knowledge of the deceased. Unless you object?”  
  
  
“I don’t. I’ll just sit in the room and take my own notes while you proceed with your questions, if you don’t mind.” He said it gently, almost innocently, but his tone brooked no refusal.  
  
  
“Not at all,” the inspector said with a tight smile.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
It was nearly three in the morning by the time Severus and Hermione returned to their room. They were both exhausted and barefoot. Poirot had requested their shoes -- and those of all who were present in the bar that evening -- so that they might be tested as for evidence of Rita stomping. Hermione glanced back at her employer-cum-boyfriend with a tired smile.  
  
  
“Thanks for staying through all that. You really didn’t have to.”  
  
  
He snorted. “I was not going to leave you alone for questioning with only Potter for protection. He’s bound by his oath of office to not interfere with the French investigation. You realize that you and I likely top her list of suspects?”  
  
  
Hermione nodded. “It was inevitable, really. We knew Skeeter from before and are the most likely to hold a grudge. She’s blasted us both in the papers over the years, me especially. If I were investigating, I’d be taking a closer look at us as well. She doesn’t have a solid motive for either of us, so she’s grasping at straws. Though the insinuation that you and Skeeter were somehow lovers was beyond the pale.”  
  
  
That earned her a dark chuckle. “It wasn’t for lack of trying on her part,” he snarked.  
  
  
“Oh, _really_?”  
  
  
“Mm. During my recovery after the Battle of Hogwarts. She somehow managed to get into my room. I think the goal was to offer me ‘comfort’ in return for a good story. Almost worked, too.” He grinned at her raised eyebrow. “I was so high on painkillers that I didn’t know my own name, much less question the pair of naked breasts in front of me. Luckily my blood pressure was so low that -- ah -- let’s just say that she walked away with nary a fondling.”  
  
  
Hermione paled. “Alright. You know, I’m normally all for comparing sexual histories before we actually sleep together, but I think in this case I’m going to throw that rule out the window. I seriously don’t want to know.”  
  
  
Severus’ eyes turned serious as she turned away to remove her jewelry. “Hermione, there has been no one for quite some time. Until now, at least.” He reached out and hesitantly touched her shoulder turning her to face him. “There has been no one because I have been waiting for you.”  
  
  
Hermione dropped her earrings on the bureau and snaked her arms around the man in front of her. “I’ve been waiting for you as well, Severus,” she said softly.  
  
  
She blinked as he reached his fingers down to tip her chin up, then allowed her eyes to close as his lips met hers.  
  
  
The kiss started softly -- a slow glide of heated lips, a light nip of teeth. Hermione moaned and tilted her head, opening her mouth to invite his tongue to tangle with hers. Something about that small sound and movement caused Severus’ normally iron-clad control to waver, then to snap. He groaned in return, crushing her to his body as his kisses heated. He could feel her heart speed up to thump in rhythm with his own as he cupped her face in his hands and devoured her mouth. Worry and fatigue faded away as Severus pressed Hermione against the wall, pinning her in place with the length and weight of his body.  
  
  
“Severus,” she breathed as he pulled back. “What are we doing?”  
  
  
He growled low in his throat and set his lips and teeth to her neck. “The depends entirely on you, my dear.” He suckled hard when her breathy sigh became a drawn-out moan. “It’s late. We’ve had an unbelievably trying day.” He pressed a warm kiss to her pulse, then tilted his head to attack the other side of her neck. “We could retire for the night since tomorrow promises to be another unbelievably trying day.”   
  
  
“Or?” she gasped.  
  
  
“Or,” he said, running his hands down her back and smoothing them back up under her blouse, “we can go to bed.”  
  
  
“We haven’t -- there hasn’t --” she fumbled for words as his fingers -- those, exquisite, fine-boned, talented fingers -- began to trace patterns and circles along her spine. “Severus, what is this?”  
  
  
“Are you really so out of practice, Hermione?” He raised his head to smirk down at her before pressing a little kiss to the tip of her nose. “We call this is seduction.”  
  
  
She shook her head to clear from some of the fog of lust currently clouding her judgment. “I mean, what are we? Are you my...boyfriend?” She squeaked the last word; it sounded ridiculous.  
  
  
A low laugh sounded in her ear as he bent to nuzzle at the juncture just between earlobe and neck. “If you must label it, then I suppose I am. Though what I’d like to be is your lover.”  
  
  
Hermione shivered as his teeth scraped down the side of her neck. “Yes. Gods, yes.” She reached up to thread her fingers through his hair, pulling his face close to hers. “Take me to bed, Severus.”  
  
  
The grin on his face was feral, hungry. Without warning, he placed an arm behind her knees and scooped her up, striding the scant eight feet to his bed and placing her on the comforter before lowering his body to hers. He’d just begun to unbutton her blouse when a knock sounded at the door.  
  
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Ignore it.”  
  
  
His hands returned to her blouse when the knock came again. “Hermione, it’s me. We need to talk,” Harry called from the hallway, his voice pitched to carry into the room but not down the hall.  
  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
  
“Indeed. I hope Detective Poirot hasn’t gone home. There’s going to be another murder tonight.” Severus stood and straightened his waistcoat and shirt sleeves before discreetly adjusting his trousers. He walked toward the door and flung it open with all the drama and aplomb of his former teaching days. “Mr. Potter, it is quite late and your visit is unbelievably ill-timed.”  
  
  
“Snape! I’m sorry to disturb you. The woman downstairs said this was Hermione’s room.”  
  
  
Hermione’s head peeked into the small hall of their room. “It is. Don’t leave him in the hallway, Severus, let the man in.” She ignored Harry’s fish-mouth gape and retreated into the room to plop down on her bed and draw her legs up under her skirt.  
  
  
“I -- You -- He -- Bastard!” Harry sputtered.  
  
  
Snape sneered at the man and, for a moment, saw only the boy. “Articulate as always, Potter. Do come in.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
It had taken the sight of the two separate beds and a slug from one of Hermione’s prize bottles of brandy to get Harry speaking coherently. Neither Severus nor Hermione felt the need to fill Harry in on what he’d interrupted.  
  
  
“Right,” he said, running a nervous hand through his hair. “Um, so you two probably understood that Poirot has you both on the suspect list.”  
  
  
Hermione nodded, shooting a quick glance at Severus where he stood on the far wall with arms crossed. “Yes, Harry. We were just discussing that when we came back to the room.”  
  
  
“So you’re not the only ones with motive, but you’re the only ones with past history with her,” he continued. “I mean, past history that doesn’t include being the subject of one of her stories. You two are the only ones here that we’ve found that actually knew the woman before this week.”  
  
  
Severus snorted. “That doesn’t mean that no one else has motive. Nearly everyone here has some reason to wish harm on Skeeter, particularly those in the Protectorate.”  
  
  
“Of which you are both members,” Harry finished. “Look, I know neither of you killed her. For one thing, if you were going to kill her,” he said looking pointedly at Severus, “you would have done something far less obvious than crushing her underfoot when she was in her beetle form.”  
  
  
“Merlin,” Hermione breathed. “Is that how she died. No wonder she looked so...mangled.” She shuddered as she recalled Skeeter’s twisted limbs and bleeding head.  
  
  
“Uh, yeah. Sorry, thought you knew. Anyway, I know it wasn’t either of you, but my friendship with both of you doesn’t hold much weight,” he said.  
  
  
Severus was momentarily taken aback by Potter’s reference to him as a friend. “So what should we do? Offer to help with the investigation?” he asked.  
  
  
“No. I’d recommend your proceed as normal. Keep your ear to the ground, of course, and report anything you hear to me. Perhaps avoid spending much time with your fellow Protectorate members until this is cleared up,” he shrugged.  
  
  
Hermione shot another look at Severus. “We have a meeting scheduled for tomorrow night. Well, tonight now. I can’t miss it -- it’s my induction. And Severus is my sponsor, so he has to go as well.”  
  
  
Harry considered this. “Oh. Alright, well maybe don’t spend time solely with Protectorate members outside of that meeting. Skeeter’s last article has rather thrown your lot into the limelight.”  
  
  
“That is acceptable,” Severus murmured. “I assume we are all confined to the hotel for some time?”  
  
  
“Until each person is removed from the suspect list, yes.”  
  
  
“Very well. Thank you for taking the time to fill us in, Potter. It is, however, nearly four in the morning and I believe both Professor Granger and I would appreciate the chance to get some sleep,” Severus said as he pushed himself from the wall. “Until tomorrow?”  
  
  
“Oh, right. G’night then, Snape. Hermione,” he said, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Maybe take the chance to lie in tomorrow. The morning sessions are going to be cancelled out of respect anyway.”  
  
  
Hermione bade Harry goodnight as she saw him to the door, then shut and warded it against further interruption. She returned to the bedroom to see Severus toeing off his boots as he sat on her bed. She crossed to sit next to him, though neither made the move to touch the other.  
  
  
“Harry certainly knows how to kill the mood,” she muttered.  
  
  
“Perhaps kill is a term we should avoid for the next few days,” Severus replied.  
  
  
With a sigh, Hermione nodded. She drew her wand and pointed it at Severus, ignoring his quirked eyebrow as she quickly banished his clothes so that he was clad only in pants, then turned her wand on herself to banish her clothing and replace it with her nightie. She quirked an eyebrow at her would-be lover’s surprised look. “I’m tired. Let’s go to sleep.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Morning came in, fast and hard. Hermione squinted at the bright sunshine pouring through her windows with a groan before turning over in bed to face away from the glaring realities that would surely make for a long, horrid day. She was only slightly surprised when she rolled directly into Severus, whose arm was flung across his eyes in an attempt to banish the offending light from the room. Rather than get up and confront the day like a good Gryffindor, Hermione closed her eyes and burrowed into Severus’ side. She was gratified when his arm snaked under her shoulders and drew her close with a soft grunt.  
  
  
“I know,” she mumbled into his shoulder.  
  
  
“We could just stay up here all day, you know,” he rasped in a voice still rough with sleep.  
  
  
“We could...if we wanted everyone to assume we we killed Rita Skeeter.”  
  
  
His chest jumped with a laughing snort. “If only.”  
  
  
“I’ll admit, I thought about it once or twice. Putting her in a jar seemed the better solution.” She watched as one dark eye opened to stare at her speculatively. “I was fifteen at the time, and she was still unregistered.”  
  
  
“There are times I’m grateful that Albus never told me everything you lot got up to,” he said, scrubbing at his eyes and rolling so that he faced her.  
  
  
“I’m pretty sure even Dumbledore didn’t know everything we got up to,” she smirked. “How about a compromise? We stay up here this morning and have breakfast in bed. Then we go to the conference lounge and see what the rumor mill has to offer us, alright?”  
  
  
“Is breakfast the only thing I’ll be having in bed this morning?” he asked, eyebrows raised.  
  
  
Hermione’s smirk broadened. “I suppose that depends on how hungry you are.”  
  
  
“Ravenous,” he said with a growl before closing the slight difference between them and covering her body with his own. He braced himself on his elbows and looked down at the woman below him, smiling a bit at the tangled pile of curls spread out on the pillow. “Now, if I remember we left off somewhere around...here,” he rumbled. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, then followed it with one to her jaw, and one to the pulse of her throat. He kept kissing, drawing the straps of her nightgown down and baring her breasts as he went.  
  
  
Hermione watched, her breath hitching as Severus -- her mentor, her friend, and now her lover -- trailed his lips down her body. The air in her lungs escaped in a low moan as she watched, enraptured, as his mouth close around one dusky nipple to suckle and to tease. She arched her back, encouraging him to take more, offering her body for his delectation. He wasted no time taking advantage, shifting his weight to free up an arm and sliding his hand around her other breast, testing its weight before rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She gasped when she felt the scrape of his teeth over one sensitive bud and felt an answering pull between her legs.  
  
  
Severus smiled as her hips bucked against his erection and allowed himself to press more firmly against her in return. He left his hand on her breast as he snaked his mouth down her body, pausing to dip into her navel, then nuzzling at the curls nestled in the apex of her thighs. He pressed a kiss on her mound before dropping lower and allowing his tongue to part her lips and flick at the swollen nub he found there. He rumbled a laugh into her sex as she flew apart beneath him, one hand tangled in the bed sheets and the other gripping his hair.  
  
  
Her cries and whimpers were music to his ears. Severus redoubled his efforts, slipping two fingers inside her warm cunt and nearly groaning at the moisture he found gathered there. “Oh, love. You’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” he crooned as he thrust his fingers in her gently. He flipped his wrist and use his thumb to apply pressure to her clit, taking the opportunity to nibble at her thighs as he built the pressure inside her again. He could feel her abdominal muscles clenching and releasing as her orgasm built until finally, finally, she wailed his name to the ceiling as her orgasm washed over her. He raised his head to watch her face as she came unwound and nearly finished himself as he watched her in her ecstasy.  
  
  
“Merlin, Hermione. You’re gorgeous when you come.”  
  
  
Hermione tilted her head to look him in the eyes as she panted through her exertions. “I want you inside of me, Severus. Hurry.”  
  
  
He felt himself harden at her words and quickly raised himself to his knees so that he could slide back up her body. With little in the way of preparation or warning, he settled between her thighs and slid his length into her wet heat on a long moan.  
  
  
Hermione looked up at him with a little smile on her face and ran her hands down her chest. They remained like that for a moment, watching one another in their stillness. Finally, Hermione broke the spell and whispered, “Move, Severus. I want you to move.”  
  
  
Severus’ hips began to thrust of their own accord. He dove deep only to withdraw again. And again. He felt as though an electric current were running down his spine, forcing his pelvis to snap against hers. Her hips undulated under his, meeting him thrust for thrust as the tension between them built. Something would have to give.  
  
  
It was Hermione’s turn to watch as Severus unraveled, as shook and moaned and flung his head back to thrust home once, twice, thrice more and shouted her name. The look of rapture on his face was enough to send her over the edge once more before they both collapsed onto the bed, panting from their exertions.  
  
  
They lay there quiescent for minutes or hours until Severus finally rolled off her sweaty body and gave her what could only be described as an impish grin.  
  
  
“So shall you order breakfast or shall I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Inspecteur Magique spécial for the Département de la Justice in the Ministére Magique" = Special Magical Inspector for the Department of Justice in the Ministry of Magic


	5. A Lover's Triangle?

It was nearly time for tea before they made their way downstairs, but Hermione and Severus were both pleasantly relaxed when they arrived in the conference lounge. They’d agreed that, while neither had a desire to keep their relationship in the shadows, it was likely prudent to maintain a low profile as a romantic couple until their return to Hogwarts at the end of the week.  
  
  
Sadly, _Le Monde Magique_ had not received this memo. Gretchen rushed toward them waving the most recent edition of the newspaper in their faces. Severus was forced to snatch it out of her hands after the third time she’d beaned him on the head with the wretched thing. Hermione peeked over his shoulder to read the headline:  
  
  
 _ **Sorcier noire et ex-héroïne de guerre interrogé dans la mort prématuré  
du journaliste célèbre! Un triangle d'un amant? Un pacte pour les amoureux? Ou quelque chose de plus sinistre?**_  
  
  
 _Par Anaïs Dufois_  
  
  
Hermione snorted. “A love triangle with Rita Skeeter? Honestly, who believes this tripe? This Dufois woman is just as bad as the _Prophet_ reporters.” She glanced up at Severus to see him eyeing the pockets of potions experts gathered around the room...who all appeared to be eyeing them back.  
  
  
“I believe, my dear, that we may want to avoid scoffing when we are being watched so closely by so many,” Severus murmured sotto voce.  
  
  
Hermione pressed her lips together and took the newspaper from his hands, flipping to the second page. “Sev, look at this one,” she said under her breath.  
  
  
 _ **Est-ce protectorat archaïque pratique des rituels noires? Jusqu'où iront-ils pour protéger leurs secrets?**_  
  
  
 _Par Thierry Grosjean_  
  
  
“Gods. What exactly are they accusing us of, Gretchen?” Severus asked.  
  
  
“I do not know _mein freund_ , but Remy is considering postponing tonight’s gathering.”  
  
  
“He must do as he sees fit, but it seems best that we finish the induction of the new members and conclude our business with the Protectorate for the week as soon as we can.” He glanced around the room toward the far wall, where Poirot was loitering. “The detective already knows of the Protectorate and there is, unfortunately, nothing we can do about the press. I suggest we behave as we normally would.”  
  
  
Gretchen scoffed. “As ve normally would, Severus? There has been a murder. A woman, loathsome as she vas, is currently in ze French Ministry undergoing all manner of spells to find evidence that someone here is a killer!” The poor woman was panting as she finished her statement.  
  
  
“Yes, Gretchen. And I know damned well that neither I nor Hermione are the ones responsible for her death. So I will behave normally until I have reason to do otherwise. I suggest you do the same.” He gave her a terse nod and made his way to the tea service to pour himself a cup.  
  
  
“I’m sorry, Gretchen.” Hermione said, reaching out to pat the older woman’s arm. “But he is right. Severus has dealt with suspicion and innuendo many times before. The only thing to do is ignore it until circumstances dictate otherwise.”  
  
  
“And they accuse _my_ people of being cold and logical. You English -- ice vater in your veins!” Gretchen muttered before stomping off to accost the newly arrived Niloo with the French newspaper.  
  
  
Hermione sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
At the last minute, Remy sent notice to each of the Protectorate members that they would meet in the empty plenary room after dinner that evening to complete the initiates’ induction into _Ignis_ Protectorate. The ceremony would be lacking in both atmosphere and gravitas, but the group’s official meetings for week would at least be done. In a shrewd move, Remy invited Inspector Poirot to the meeting, granted that she leave the room for the vow itself. The inspector respectfully declined and left them to their devices.  
  
  
“My dears,” Remy said as he stood in front of the four newest members of the Protectorate, ”though the conference itself has been marred by tragedy, we must pass our knowledge on in its time. And now is that time.” He handed each what appeared to be a blank piece of parchment.  
  
  
“Do you vow to protect the Ignis Dei potion for future generations who rule with divine right?”  
  
  
“I do,” stated each of the four inductees.  
  
  
“Do you vow to pass this knowledge on, in your turn?”  
  
  
They vowed again.  
  
  
“Do you vow to join this group of brethren with an open heart, an open mind, and a desire to serve?”  
  
  
The four spoke again. “I do.”  
  
  
“Do you vow to come in times of need, and to provide assistance when called?”  
  
  
“I do.”  
  
  
“Do you vow to serve the Head Protector without question to your duty?”  
  
  
“I do.”  
  
  
“Then welcome, brothers and sisters. The parchment you hold will reveal itself only to one who has vowed to serve the Protectorate, but guard it well. You hold in your hand the measures and instructions for the creation of the _Ignis Dei_ , and we are blessed to welcome you into our happy family.” The little man stepped forward and kissed each of them on the cheek before the rest of the Protectorate followed suit. Hermione was happy when Severus lingered just a moment too long over his kiss.  
  
  
The group disbanded quickly after that and headed off to the lounge or the bar to continue socializing and networking. It struck Hermione as odd that life continued as though Skeeter’s death had never happened. Then again, the potions elite of the world was gathered in a hotel with no ability to leave. She supposed there was nothing else to do but eat, drink, and converse until Poirot signalled their release.  
  
  
Severus leaned down to whisper in her ear. “So, how does it feel to be initiated at last?”  
  
  
“Rather staid, actually.”  
  
  
Severus chuckled. “I felt much the same when it was my turn. The Protectorate _is_ archaic -- we’re rarely called upon these days. Though I suspect you and I will be brewing sometime in the next decade or two, considering the relative age of our monarch.”  
  
  
Hermione glanced up at him. “So she drank the potion when she was crowned?”  
  
  
He nodded. “Yes. It’s generally given to the monarch just prior to the coronation, so a year after the death of the previous monarch.”  
  
  
“Interesting. I’m not sure I believe in divine right, Severus,” she said in a near whisper.  
  
  
“And I’m sure I don’t, Hermione. You can look at your parchment later if you like, but I’ll try to explain it more when we return to Hogwarts and have some privacy. Let me just say this: The _Ignis Dei_ protects more than a potion. It protects the mythology of those who rule.”  
  
  
She pondered this. “I’ll be interested in hearing more about this when we return to the school. Could a lowly Potions Mistress invite her boss to dinner in her quarters, you think?” she said with a flirtatious smile.  
  
  
“Your boss would be absolutely delighted,” he said with a smirk.  
  
  
They emerged from the plenary room only to run directly into Heloïse Poirot. Harry was nowhere to be seen.  
  
  
“Inspector. May we help you?” Severus greeted her.  
  
  
“I’m here to inform Mistress Granger and yourself that you have officially been declared persons of interest in the murder of Rita Skeeter.” She handed them each a piece of parchment. “You are to submit your wands to a tracing charm until you have been cleared of involvement in her death.”  
  
  
Hermione’s eyes popped wide. “We’re suspects, you mean?”  
  
  
“Persons of interest. Your wands please.”  
  
  
Hermione shot a look at Severus, who simply shook his head in disappointment and withdrew his wand. “I expect that the French Ministry is devoting all its resources to this investigation, Inspector? I have a school to run and can’t very well do so from France.”  
  
  
“We are following a number of leads. Please do not attempt to leave the country in the meantime. Mistress Granger, your wand?”  
  
  
Hermione sighed and handed it over, reverting to her school day habit of worrying her lip between her teeth. “Please let us know if we can be of assistance, Inspector Poirot,” she said in a weak voice. “We’re as eager to see this cleared as you are.”  
  
  
The woman did not reply, but waved her wand over the those of Hermione and Severus in a series of quick flicks. “We will be able to track your location and any spells cast through your wand. Please do not attempt to break the tracing charm; such an attempt will result in your arrest under suspicion of destroying evidence.”  
  
  
Hermione and Severus could only stare after the woman as she turned and walked away, heels clicking like metronomes on the tile floor.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They returned their room early that evening, mostly to avoid further conversation about the murder, the newspaper articles, or unceremoniously trampled beetles. They’d decided to make use of the hotel room by running a bath in an attempt to relax after their confrontation with Poirot.  
Hermione was just untying the belt of her robe when a thought struck her.  
  
  
“Severus?” she said, poking her head out of the bathroom. She smiled when she saw he’d opened a bottle of cognac and was in the process of transfiguring their water tumblers into snifters. “Oh, good idea. Um, the first Protectorate meeting? It’s all a bit of a blur to me, but Remy warded the room, didn’t he?”  
  
  
He regarded her thoughtfully. “He did.”  
  
  
“Right. But there were details of that meeting that were in the newspaper the next morning.”  
  
  
Severus gave a slow nod, wondering where this was going. “There were.”  
  
  
“So someone from the Protectorate had to have spoken to Rita. There’s no way she could have gotten into the room after it was warded, and the intruder ward would have revealed her to the rest of the room, even in animagus form.”  
  
  
“Where are you going with this, Hermione?”  
  
  
“The timing seems...odd to me.”  
  
  
He set the tumblr down and turned to face her fully. “Odd how?”  
  
  
“Well, who knew that new members would be inducted into the Protectorate this year?”  
  
  
“Only the current members.”  
  
  
“Alright,” she said, pausing to think. “How many people were considered for each slot?”  
  
  
Severus leaned back against the bureau and regarded his lover thoughtfully. “Two for yours. I believe three or four in Jonas’ position. Eight for Petr’s -- Russia has always produced a number of excellent potion masters. Niloo was the only one considered for her spot. Why?”  
  
  
“Just go with me on this for a moment. Do you think that there might be some noses out of joint for those not considered for the position?”  
  
  
“Well, no one is told if they’re considered or not, though I suppose it’s reasonable to suspect that some would know, particularly if they’ve been considered in the past. It would follow after the death of a current member.”  
  
  
“Right. So Russia, Belgium, Oman, and Britain have each lost a Protectorate member in the past year. It follows that potions experts from those countries would be considered for the post.”  
  
  
“Yes,” he said, leaning forward. “I think I see where you’re going with this.”  
  
  
“Right. So the next question is, are any of the current Protectorate members close enough to someone who might be considered for a Protectorate position but who didn’t get it? Someone who might then want to implicate the Protectorate in something underhanded. Or smear the names of some of its members?”  
  
  
Severus scrubbed a hand over his hair and began to pace the room. “So you suspect that someone is disappointed with the Protectorate. Angry enough to want to destroy it or discredit its members. And that this person is leaking information to the press?”  
  
  
“Yes.”  
  
  
“Alright. I can agree that your theory makes some sense -- and to answer your question, a number of the Protectorate members are involved with other Potions Masters or Mistresses -- but I fail to see how this leads to murdering Rita Skeeter.”  
  
  
Hermione slumped at that. “Oh. I don’t think I’d gotten that far. Do you know who is involved with whom? Perhaps if we make a list we might find someone who has the motive to injure Skeeter?”  
  
  
He rolled her eyes at her. “I’m not exactly an active member of the rumor mill, Hermione. We can try, I suppose.”  
  
  
“Or we can mention this to Poirot. See if it takes her anywhere.”  
  
  
“No,” he said firmly. “She’ll just read that as attempting to meddle in an active investigation.”  
  
  
“But -- “ she began.  
  
  
“We’ll give it to Potter,” he finished with a smirk, “and let him bring the idea up.”  
  
  
Hermione brightened at that and waved her hand toward the bath to stop the running water. “Just let me find some parchment.”  
  
  
Two hours later they had what Hermione hoped was an up-to-date list of past and current liaisons between Protectorate members and members of the potions community at large. It was a fractured and spiderwebbed series of circles and lines, crossed-out and replaced lovers. Hermione was starting to go cross eyed from staring at it and Severus had already quaffed a headache potion.  
  
  
“Does everyone sleep with their apprentice?” Hermione asked incredulously.  
  
  
Severus shrugged. “Some of us wait until they’re no longer under our supervision,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.  
  
  
“You realize that Gretchen has slept with half the witches and wizards at this conference, right?”  
  
  
“Half might be a slight overestimation, Hermione.”  
  
  
“A third, then. Is that what she was yammering at you about in German the other night? Was she trying to sleep with you too?” she demanded.  
  
  
“Hardly,” he said sharply. “She was encouraging me to make my feelings known to you. If you’ll consult your chart again, you’ll see that Gretchen is currently in a relationship with Edna Chatsworth.”  
  
  
Hermione felt her face heat as she looked down at the parchment in front of her. “Oh. Sorry,” she said sheepishly.  
  
  
“I do not cheat,” Severus bit off.  
  
  
“No, I know that. I _should_ know that. You’re the very definition of loyalty and steadfastness, Severus.” She got up to give him a peck on the tip of his nose. “Really, I’m sorry.”  
  
  
He huffed out a breath. “It’s fine. A little jealousy is healthy. But I’m with you, Hermione, until you no longer want me. Please try to remember that.”  
  
  
She kissed him again and cuddled against his side in lieu of another apology. “I’ll try to avoid further idiocy.”  
  
  
“Do.”  
  
  
“Wait a minute!” she said, jolting upright and dashing to the bureau to snag the morning’s copy of _Le Monde Magique_. This Anaïs Dufois person...she might be more right than she knows.”  
  
  
Severus looked at her expectantly.  
  
  
“ _Un triangle d'un amant_ , Severus. A love triangle.”  
  
  
“I know what it means, Hermione. I just don’t know what _you_ mean,” he said with no small amount of exasperation.  
  
  
“Follow my logic here. When you were inducted into the Protectorate, Wanda Dawes and Edna Chatsworth were also being considered, yes?”  
  
  
“Yes.”  
  
  
“But Edna was in the midst of a tawdry divorce from Slughorn. Was there any accusation of infidelity?”  
  
  
“Yes. On both sides. Slughorn was seeing Wanda Dawes -- she was his apprentice at the time -- but Edna was seeing Remy on the side. This was before he was Head of the Protectorate, though.”  
  
  
“Right. And Skeeter blasted this all over the front page of _The Prophet_ , am I right?”  
  
  
He rolled his eyes. “It was a slow news cycle.”  
  
  
“Whatever. Now Remy and Edna broke up eventually, right?”  
  
  
“About a decade ago. Infidelity again, on Remy’s part this time. Edna was heartbroken.”  
  
  
“And Edna has been with Gretchen since when?”  
  
  
“Since about eight years ago,” he said. “Where are you going with this?”  
  
  
“Who will bear the brunt of the blame if one of the new inductees is a murderer? Or if the Protectorate is in any way discredited, Severus?”  
  
  
His eyes widened as he followed Hermione’s path of reasoning. “Remy. As head, he was the final decision on all the inductees.”  
  
  
“Exactly. So the Protectorate is damaged. Remy is forced to resign as President of the ICP. Either you or I -- perhaps both -- are forced to resign as members of the Protectorate if we’re implicated in Skeeter’s murder. Gretchen takes over as Head of the Protectorate and suddenly there’s a spot or two open for new British members.” She finished her recitation and stared at Severus.  
  
  
He stared for nearly a full minute in return before blinking slowly and drawing his trousers back on. “Floo Potter.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
It was midnight before Harry had managed to follow Hermione’s convoluted train of thought through the various affairs and breakups of the Protectorate. He’d protested at first, pointing out that Hermione’s logic was nothing but conjecture and guesswork -- not even circumstantial in nature. They’d argued for nearly an hour before Harry agreed to take a copy of her graph and a reduced explanation of her reasoning to Poirot.  
  
  
“She’ll probably toss it, you know,” he’d said. “She knows we’re close and considers my interjections a nuisance at best.”  
  
  
Hermione had raised her hands in defeat. “So you’re not even going to try?”  
  
  
“I didn’t say that,” Harry said hastily, casting a glance toward a glowering Snape. “I’m just saying not to expect much. But I’ll try.”  
  
  
He’d left Hermione and Severus alone in the room. Both felt discouraged by his reticence and they’d retired without making use of the bath after all.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They were awakened the next morning by rapid pounding on the door. It was Hermione who fumbled herself into her robe and opened her door. She was confronted by a rotund little man with a blond goatee that made it look like he had recently rubbed cheeks with a peach.  
  
  
“Mistress Granger?” the man asked.  
  
  
“Yes?”  
  
  
“I am Junior Inspector Bernard. I have come to return your items. Is Master Snape also in residence?”  
  
  
“He is,” a dark voice growled from room. “And he was asleep, thank you very much.”  
  
  
“My apologies,” Bernard said with a short bow. He thrust out a bag containing two pairs of shoes, which Hermione took in confusion.  
  
  
“Thank you. May I ask why these were returned so quickly?”  
  
  
“Ah, yes. A breakthrough in the night, Mademoiselle. An arrest has been made. I have been instructed to remove the trace from your wands as well.”  
  
  
Hermione goggled for a moment. “Come in, please. I’ll just fetch them.” She rushed back into the room. “Sev, your wand?”  
  
  
Severus, face deep in the pillow, fumbled beneath it for a moment before thrusting it directly into the air, nearly taking out Hermione’s eye in the process.  
  
  
“Thank you. I think.” She snagged her own wand from the nightstand before returning to the Junior Inspector waiting in their short hallway.  
  
  
She watched as he quickly removed the traces from both their wands before he gave another short bow and wished them a good day and rushed off.  
  
  
Hermione returned to the room and plopped down on the edge of the bed she’d shared with Severus. “Well that was...odd. And aren’t you enthusiastic to be cleared of possible murder charges. Why didn’t you get up?” she said, poking him in the side.  
  
  
Severus rolled over and pulled down the sheet. “Because I suspected that Inspector Bernard wouldn’t enjoy the sight of either my wand or my arse this early in the morning.” Hermione blushed. She’d forgotten that Severus had slept in the nude the night before.  
  
  
“Oh. Sorry.” She paused. “I guess it’s over, then.”  
  
  
Severus sighed. “I suppose so.”  
  
  
“That was anticlimactic, to say the least. I expected that there would at least be some sort of confrontation. Or apology. Something.”  
  
  
He snorted into the pillow. “Not everything is a one-on-one duel at dawn with half of Hogwarts looking on, Hermione. Sometimes due process is just that -- a process as boring and as mundane as any other bureaucratic procedure.”  
  
  
“You’re positively poetic, Severus. Be still my heart,” she said, standing so that she could prepare to meet the day.  
  
  
A hand shot out from under the covers and snagged her wrist, pulling her off balance and toppling her onto his long, lean frame. “I’ll show you poetic, witch,” he growled as he tunneled his hands beneath her robe. “I’ll have you speaking in rhymed couplets by the time I’m done with you.”  
  
  
They missed breakfast. Again.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Hermione had expected to console a grieving Gretchen when they joined the conference participants later that day. Instead she was greeted by a ranting, sparking, German explicative spewing harridan who seemed ready to go out and do murder all over again.  
  
  
“Since ven do I not make my own way in the vorld?” she asked Severus and Hermione. “Haf I ever asked for you, or anyone, to cheat me into my position. I _earn_ my position. I am smart. I am productive. I am brilliant researcher. Bah, I say to her! She does not deserve one such as me.” Hermione was convinced the woman would have spat had Severus not placed a consoling hand on Gretchen’s shoulder.  
  
  
“ _Frieden, mein Freund_ ,” he said in her ear. “She sought to help herself and harm Remy far more than she sought to help you. So be grateful. You escaped being tied down to one such as her -- who is, I agree, entirely undeserving.”  
  
  
“Ja.” Gretchen nodded, sniffling a bit as her eyes watered. “ _Ich bin verletzt, aber Wunden heilen_. Und honestly, I do not want to replace Remy for many years yet. He is a good man, a good leader.”  
  
  
Hermione nodded. “He is. Come on, Gretchen. I have twenty some odd bottles of brandy in our room. Let’s go get completely shit-faced.”  
  
  
Gretchen burbled a laugh and swiped her hand under her nose. “I take it back. You British do not haf veins of ice vater. You are simply full of spirits!”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“Home sweet home,” Severus said as they walked from Hogsmeade station down toward the Hogwarts gates.  
  
  
“Though no one would ever call our castle humble,” Hermione said with a grin. “Gods, it’s good to be back.”  
  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
  
They walked in silence a little longer, pausing only to allow Hagrid to open the gates for them. Hermione promised to come see him the next day with a bottle from France. She wondered what Hagrid would make of Pastis.  
  
  
The path to the great doors marking the entrance of the school was long and impeccably groomed, the autumn air crisp. Hermione shot a glance up at her lover with a little grin. “So now what, Headmaster Snape?”  
  
  
“Now I catch up on the small mountain of paperwork that I’m sure is sitting on my desk. And you, I assume, whip your first years into shape.”  
  
  
“That’s a comforting thought, but I meant now what for _us_ , Severus.”  
  
  
“Well, I’m feeling rather peckish.”  
  
  
She slapped his arm. “ _Severus_.”  
  
  
He smiled down at her in return. “I believe I was invited to dinner in a certain witch’s quarters.”  
  
  
“Tonight? But I don’t have anything prepared. I mean, I suppose I could ask Winky, but it would be --” She stopped speaking as he pressed a finger to her lips.  
  
  
“Hermione, I don’t really care what we eat. I’d just like to spend time alone with you. No inspectors. No ambitious potions harpies. No Harry Potter beating down the door. Just you.”  
  
  
“Why Headmaster Snape, this is so sudden!” she said, batting her lashes. She giggled at the snarl that came from his mouth and pecked him on the lips, heedless of who might see. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”  
  
  
And so it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sorcier noire et ex-héroïne de guerre interrogé dans la mort prématuré du journaliste célèbre! Un triangle d'un amant? Un pacte pour les amoureux? Ou quelque chose de plus sinistre?" = Dark Wizard and Ex War Heroine interogated for the premature death of celebrated journalist! A love triangle? A lover's pact? Or something more sinister?
> 
>  
> 
> "Est-ce protectorat archaïque pratique des rituels noires? Jusqu'où iront-ils pour protéger leurs secrets?" = Is this out-dated protectorate practicing dark rituals? How far will they go to protect their secrets?
> 
> Le Monde Magique = The Magical World
> 
> \------------------------------------------
> 
> "Frieden, mein Freund" = Peace, my friend.
> 
> "Ich bin verletzt, aber Wunden heilen" = I am hurt, but wounds heal.


End file.
